


Stiles Unwillingly Moves Towns And Adopts A Dragon

by gardenrose



Series: The Hale Dragon Sanctuary [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dragon Riders, M/M, Not very much dialouge at the beginning, Powerful Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Warning: Gerard Argent, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:55:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28685958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardenrose/pseuds/gardenrose
Summary: After a raid on his village, Stiles is taken from his parents by soldiers from the evil Chasseuse Kingdom and dragged halfway across the world. He escapes months later (with some help), and lives on the streets of a town called Holden for two weeks before the Blacksmith takes him in. Years later, he comes across a familiar face from his past who gives him a dragon egg without his knowledge. Not willing to be used like he was while he was in captivity, Stiles hides his dragon in the mountains and grows up learning everything he can about his new companion.But the peace Stiles has built for himself cannot last forever.Soldiers from Beacon Kingdom discover his dragon, and track him to the house he lives in with the Blacksmith and his wife. Arrested for possession of an unregistered dragon, he's taken to the Capital where the ruling Hale family runs a dragon sanctuary. He reunites with a few familiar faces, clashes with a few others (namely Derek Hale, who's the grouchiest person Stiles has ever met - but Stiles still wants to hold his hand in a non-platonic way for some reason), and learns the reason for the war between the two kingdoms.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: The Hale Dragon Sanctuary [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102586
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	1. Karmazyn

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the first installment of the hale dragon sanctuary series!!
> 
> the internet told me that 'mieczysław' is pronounced 'me-etch-ee-suave'  
> however i am not even a little bit polish, so i'm sorry if that is completely wrong  
> if i am, please let me know the correct pronunciation!!
> 
> scott can't pronounce stiles' real name, and he doesn't get the nickname 'stiles' until later, so scott calls him 'chee' which i think is very cute
> 
> for everyone who doesn't know, the internet told me that 'chasseuse' means 'hunter' in french  
> i took french for six years in school (i live in canada okay) and i've completely forgetten EVERYTHING i learned except for how to introduce myself

The worst day of Mieczysław’s life starts like normal. His dad woke him up to say goodbye as he left for his job as Head Dragon Trainer at the Dragon Sanctuary in the Capital with a hand running through his hair and a soft smile. Mieczysław hugged him as tight as he could and gave him a sleepy kiss on the cheek before going back to sleep. He was awoken again a little while later by his best friend Scott jumping on his bed after his mom, the Veterinarian at the same Sanctuary his dad works at, dropped him off for Mieczysław’s mom, Claudia, to watch. Claudia is the town Healer, and often occupies Mieczysław and Scott by sending them throughout the town to get certain plants, or uses them for simple manual labour in her shop. Scott loves working in the shop - he wants to follow in his mother’s footsteps one day and thoroughly enjoys making salves and balms. Mieczysław thinks the work itself is a little boring, but Scott and his mom make it entertaining. Claudia makes them porridge with berries and sugar for breakfast, then sends them out to the Market to buy herbs from Oliver Moore, the most trustworthy Merchant there (Claudia’s words - Mieczysław couldn’t care less and honestly didn’t know any better). The walk to the Market takes only ten minutes, but then the two seven year old's spend thirty talking to Oliver after they buy the herbs like they usually do.

The screaming started when they had just left the Marketplace. Mieczysław tenses - his self-preservation instincts are marginally better than Scott’s, who is glancing around confusedly. The noise is coming from in front of them, in the direction of the Capital. Sanlow, the tiny village where Mieczysław’s family lives, is only twenty minutes closer to the border on horseback than the Capital of Beacon, Silverkeep. Mieczysław may only be seven, but he’s watched his dad come back from work often enough that he has a general idea of the direction the Capital is in. Not bothering to find out what the source of the screaming is, Mieczysław grabs Scott’s hand and starts dragging him in the direction of the Market, where they’re not in the open. It takes them less than five minutes to sprint back to the center of the village, but the screams and sound of hoofbeats get louder with every passing second. Mieczysław’s plan was to keep running, but Scott digs his heels into the soft ground and pulls them into a recently abandoned stall, the two of them barely managing to avoid knocking over the huge bags of brightly coloured spices. Mieczysław and Scott peer through the small gaps in the wood the stall is made of, and watch with wide eyes as soldiers dressed in the purple and silver garb of the Chasseuse Kingdom riding massive horses barrel through the marketplace entrance, swinging their swords as they go. Overhead, five dragons are circling, and Mieczysław gasps quietly as an Ash dragon swoops so low Mieczysław can feel the wind from it’s wings rustling his short hair. If he wasn’t so terrified, he would be in awe - he’s never seen a dragon in person before. It’s named for it’s colour, scales so big they look like armour the colour of the ash fire leaves behind, eight pitch black horns adorning it’s head, massive wings, huge yellow claws, and bright yellow eyes that seem to stare straight into Mieczysław’s soul. The dragon unhinges it’s jaw, and with a loud rumbling noise, a torrent of blazing red fire comes right for the stall Mieczysław and Scott are hiding in, like it knew they were there. Thanks to Scott’s quick reflexes, they tumble out of the stall just in time for it to explode and catch on fire, red and yellow spices raining down on their heads. One of the foot soldiers who had entered after the cavalry catches sight of them and cackles loudly. He’s huge, and cuts an intimidating figure as he barrels towards them. Gasping with terror, Mieczysław latches onto Scott’s fingers and they’re running deeper into the Marketplace, dodging horse hooves and fleeing villagers. Mieczysław is frantic; Scott’s lungs are weak, and he’s starting to wheeze more and more the longer they run. He has to get them to safety, and fast, or Scott is going to die. They don’t manage to lose the soldier chasing them though, so Mieczysław pulls them around a tight corner and shoves Scott into the open doorway of the Bakery before pulling the heavy door shut.

“Chee, what are you _doing_?” Scott asks frantically, wheezing angrily as Mieczysław picks up a thick piece of wood and breaks the door handle off with a feat of surprising strength fueled by desperation. Scott wiggles the handle on the inside to no avail - Mieczysław has successfully jammed the door.

“Saving your life,” he tells his best friend. “Go hide until everything is over. Tell my mom and dad I love them. I’ll see you soon.” Without checking to see if Scott listened to him, he takes off again just as the soldier chasing them whips around the corner and snags the back of Mieczysław’s tunic. He drags the boy off the ground with ease, and Mieczysław gags as his shirt chokes him slightly. 

“Where’d your friend go?” The soldier demands gruffly, shaking him slightly.

Mieczysław kicks his legs out, but the soldier just holds him further away from his body. “We got separated,” Mieczysław spits, and the soldier laughs harshly. 

“I don’t believe you,” he snarls, and Mieczysław’s heart sinks into his stomach. “But one is better than none.” Then, before Mieczysław can say anything, the soldier slams his head into the stone wall of the Bakery.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

He jerks awake in the back of a wagon, surrounded by wood and sunlight poking through the small gaps in the horizontal wood panels. His hands are tied tightly in front of his stomach, the coarse rope rubbing his skin raw with every movement. He’s alone in the wagon, but surrounding him are crates that are nailed shut, a few bundles of wheat, and three thick blankets. Mieczysław can hear the sound of hooves all around him, the voices of the soldiers that attacked his village, and the occasional roar of a dragon. He stands up and makes his way to the back of the wagon, dragging one of the blankets with him, and buries himself in a corner where he’s hidden by the crates. That’s how he spends the rest of the day until he’s hauled out kicking and screaming by his hair and forced to set up camp with the other prisoners under threat of death. The ropes are removed from his wrists, but a menacing soldier with a massive sword strapped to his back follows him around, so Mieczysław doesn’t dare try to escape. He breaks his back setting up tents, head still throbbing from where it was bashed against a stone wall earlier. After the soldier decides he’s done enough, he’s tied up against a tree, bare arms irritated by the bark and the skin on his wrists bleeding. A new soldier brings him a bowl of what looks like stew. He’s got a stern face with bright blue eyes, a bit of stubble, dark hair cropped short, and a surprisingly long neck. He crouches in front of him, and Mieczysław recoils.

“I’m not allowed to undo your bonds,” the soldier says, gruff voice kind. It takes Mieczysław off guard. “But I can feed you.”

He holds the spoon in front of Mieczyslaw’s face, and he stares at it for a few seconds before hunger overtakes his wariness and he takes it into his mouth. The soldier leaves once the bowl is empty, and Mieczysław sleeps fitfully against the tree, shivering the whole night. His wrists are tied in front of him again the next morning after he packs up part of the camp, then he’s shoved in the same wagon, and this repeats. Mieczysław takes to scratching lines in the wood of the wagon with his fingernails to track the days. The same soldier feeds him every meal - unappetizing porridge in the morning, nothing like what his mom makes (but Mieczysław starts to cry if he starts to think about his family and Scott, so he leaves that for when he’s riding alone in the wagon), scraps of meat and vegetables from recent hunts for the midday meal, and bland stew in the evenings. It’s not nearly enough with all the work he’s being forced to do, so the soldier (“Chris,” he had divulged quietly, holding a finger to his lips. Mieczysław had gotten the message and returned the favour) has started to sneak him extra pieces of bread and some dried berries. One time he had even brought a small piece of cheese. The water brought with every meal is never cold like Mieczysław likes it, but he doesn’t dare bring that up. Every night he’s forced to set up camp, dragging heavy crates full of supplies out of wagons exactly like the one he rides in, pitching tents, and gathering firewood, and every morning he packs up the camp with the other captives. Chris helps him with the harder tasks when he can, and he’s whipped by other soldiers when he makes a mistake or runs his mouth. It’s horrible, but Mieczysław just _knows_ Scott would not have survived the manual labour Mieczysław is being put through twice a day with his lungs. He misses his parents something fierce, and it’s an ache he can feel in his chest, burning around his heart every time he thinks of them. He dreams about them when he sleeps, about his dad’s fond smiles and sharp humour, his mother’s soft eyes and curly hair, Scott’s crooked jaw and unending friendship. He’s roused from one of these dreams on the one hundred and twenty seventh night by Chris holding a map, a too-big leather satchel with jerky, cheese, dried berries, and a waterskin tucked into it. Chris cuts the rope holding his bleeding wrists captive, then puts the dagger back into it’s sheath and hands it to Mieczysław. Stunned, Mieczysław watches as Chris drapes the satchel over his head and on his shoulder. Chris unfolds the map and, by the light of the full moon, points out a large town with the path to it marked by thick black ink.

“It’s going to take you about a week,” Chris says quietly, pressing a little silver compass into his hands. “I wish I could’ve gotten you out sooner, but we attacked every village we passed by. Holden is a Beacon stronghold because it’s so close to the borders, so we’ll be avoiding it. Follow the map and the compass, and you’ll be safe there.”

Mieczysław stares up at him with wide eyes. “Why are you helping me?”

Chris puts a gentle hand in his hair. “You’re the same age as my daughter,” is all he says. “I’m glad to have known you Mieczysław. I hope to never see you again.”

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Mieczysław stumbles into the town of Holden nine days later, waterskin empty and only a few pieces of jerky left in his satchel. He manages to slip past the guards on patrol, and relaxes slightly when he sees their uniforms of red and black instead of the purple and silver he’s come to hate. He relaxes even more when he sees a massive Beacon flag - dark red material with a huge black triskele in the middle - flying proudly from it’s place atop the tallest building. It’s dark when he enters the town, so he curls up in the darkest corner of the first alleyway he comes across. The next day, he tucks away the map (but not before checking if he can find Sanlow on it - he can’t), the dagger, and the compass (his three most prized possessions) into his satchel, finds a well to refill his water skin with, then sets out to find some food. It’s tough, because he’s unwilling to steal, so he swallows his pride and rummages through the bins behind the Bakery. He hits a goldmine, even if his prizes are mainly stale scones. He stuffs as many as he can into his satchel, then moves on to exploring the town. It’s much bigger than Sanlow is, and everyone talks with an odd lilt to their voice. The townspeople roll their R’s, use as little syllables as possible, and don’t use the letter G. It’s a huge change from what Mieczysław is used to. He was taught to use the R wherever it’s written, and the people in his hometown stress the first syllable of every word. It’s disconcerting how obvious it is that he isn’t from here. The next thirteen days pass much the same. Mieczysław refills his waterskin from the same well every morning, then heads over to the Bakery to liberate the discarded scones, then explores the town. He’s taken to sleeping behind the Blacksmith’s shop as the nights get colder - or he does until the fourteenth night, when the Blacksmith comes around the back and discovers him curled up against the stone wall. Haddow Anderson is the Blacksmith’s name, and he and his wife Maezie (the town Seamstress) take him into their home without fuss. It takes him five months of their never ending kindness and understanding before he opens up about how he got there, Maezie sweeping him into her arms as he sobs. He lives with them for years, voice developing the same accent everyone in Holden possesses without effort, body growing healthier and stronger as he apprentices under both Haddow and Maezie. He had refused to give them his name, terrified someone from the Chasseuse army would pass through the town and recognize the name, so Haddow and Maezie call him Stiles. It’s a good name, but Stiles carves _Mieczysław_ into one of the floorboards under his head just in case, and looks at it whenever he’s feeling especially homesick. Haddow and Maezie will never replace his parents, but they do take on the roles of Uncle and Aunt happily. Stiles grows, and as the years pass, he becomes more and more well known throughout the town. After a year of living with them, Haddow forges six little copper hoops that Maezie puts in his ears after stabbing his lobes with a thick needle. Haddow starts teaching him to defend himself when he turns ten, and Stiles takes to the longsword and the recurve bow. Maezie forces him to continue his studies, and he goes to school with the other kids. He makes one friend, a girl named Minnie, who’s wild red hair matches her fiery personality. Haddow has curly red hair that falls just beneath his shoulders, and Stiles _loves_ it, so he grows out his own hair. It’s much darker and not as thick, but it curls more and more the longer he works in the humid Blacksmith’s shop. At ten, Minnie has taught him a multitude of ways to tie it back, but when he’s not working, Stiles likes to leave it out. 

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

He finds the egg when he’s eleven.

On his day off, Stiles likes to explore the forest. He packs his satchel (the same one Chris gave him) with a sandwich full of meat, some cheese, and some berries wrapped in cloth, fills his waterskin, straps his dagger on his waist and his bow and quiver on his back, then heads out. He follows the river for a while, but breaks off from it close to midday, making sure to keep the sound of running water within ear shot. He sits down a little while later to eat the food he brought, and is just about to bite into his sandwich when a bush rustles in front of him and a man stumbles out of it, bleeding heavily. Stiles jumps up, sandwich forgotten, and scrambles to point an arrow at him. The man stares at him, clothes torn to shreds and carrying what looks like a large stone. 

_“Mieczysław?”_ The man asks incredulously, accent so much like the one Stiles grew up hearing.

“How do you know that name?” Stiles demands, pulling his bowstring back further. 

The man stumbles forward a few paces, and Stiles doesn’t move. “Mieczysław, it’s me - Oliver Moore! The Merchant! You and Scott used to come buy herbs from me for your mom.”

Stiles relaxes a little. The accent is right - harsh R’s and stress on the first syllable of every word - and this guy has the same scar over his right eye that he remembers the Merchant having. “... Oliver?” He asks quietly, voice breaking. Stiles blinks rapidly and stashes his bow and arrow back into his quiver, stumbling forward to give the man a hug. 

Oliver returns it with vigor, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as Stiles buries his face into his chest. The rock he’s carrying digs into Stiles’ stomach, but he ignores it. “How the hell are you alive, kid?”

“I was captured instead of killed,” Stiles answers, voice muffled by the Merchant’s tunic. “How are you alive?” He asks, drawing out of the hug so he can take a look at the older man. “You’re bleeding,” Stiles realizes, stomach turning to stone at the amount of blood covering Oliver’s shirt.

“I fled,” Oliver says, voice thick with emotion. “I’m ashamed about it. I went back the next day to help, and Sanlow had been razed before those assholes lit it on fire. There was no one left.”

“My parents?” Stiles asks urgently. “Scott?”

Oliver shakes his head. “I have no idea kid. I’m sorry.”

Tears start to well up in Stiles’ eyes, but before he can acknowledge them, the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats fill his ears. Stiles tenses, and Oliver’s eyes widen. The Merchant pulls him back over to the tree he was sitting against before, and crouches down to rapidly shove Stiles’ discarded sandwich back into his satchel. He gives it back to him, movements frantic, and grabs Stiles’ shoulders, fingertips digging into the sensitive skin but Stiles doesn’t wince.

“You have to run,” Oliver tells him urgently. “If the soldiers chasing me see you, you’ll be captured all over again. If you make it back to the town you came from, you’ll be safe. Mieczysław,” he says, voice softening. “I’m really fucking glad you’re alive.”

“Oliver, I can help -” Stiles starts, but the Merchant just shoves him away. 

_“Go!”_ Oliver hisses, and Stiles stares for a moment before turning around and sprinting back to Holden, tears blurring his vision so much he stumbles over almost every tree root he passes. It’s not until Stiles is halfway back to Holden when he realizes that his satchel is heavier than it was this morning.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Stiles barrels into his room, glad that Haddow and Maezie are working so they wouldn’t question his tear stained cheeks. He dumps his satchel on his bed and grips his hair. He had just met the first person he knows from his childhood in almost five years, and he _abandoned_ him at the first sign of danger! Stiles grits his teeth and suppresses a scream, jaw creaking with the effort. He sits on his bed with his head in his hands, viciously rubbing the remains of his tears off his raw skin. Once he’s stopped crying, Stiles pulls his satchel towards himself with a huff, before turning it over and dumping the contents onto his bed. Stiles blinks in confusion as the large grey rock Oliver had been carrying comes tumbling out onto his covers. Confused, he cradles it in his hands and brings it up to his face. It’s a grey so dark it looks almost navy-black, and is covered with lighter grey marks that look like lightning bolts. Stiles marvels at it, blinking softly when a sense of calm washes over him, and then - the feeling of waking up after a long nap. The rock begins to twitch and move in his hands, and Stiles almost drops it in shock. He watches as cracks spread over the surface of the rock, and jumps as a tiny red claw breaches the surface. Stiles gasps in shock - it wasn’t a rock, it was an _egg!_ It takes five minutes for the baby dragon to fully break out of the egg’s shell, and it nuzzles itself into Stiles’ palms, staring up at him with eyes the same red as it’s claws. They stare at each other for a moment, before the dragon turns it’s head and touches it’s snout to Stiles fingertip. The effect is instantaneous - Stiles arches his back as pain laces through him, starting from a point in the middle of his spine and traveling down to his wrists and ankles. It seems like it would never end, but he comes back to reality a little while later hunched over and cradling the dragon to his chest. He sets her (how did he know she is a girl?) down on his bed and she makes herself comfortable on his pillow as he pulls his sweaty tunic off his head - and gasps loudly at the sight of his skin. Branches of lightning the same shade of charcoal as the dragon’s scales travel down his arms, stopping at wrists. His chest is bare, but when he looks over his shoulder, his back is covered in the same markings, and he somehow _knows_ his legs look the same as his arms. Stiles looks at the dragon with wide eyes, and she stares back at him. Hunger washes over him, but it doesn’t feel like _his._ It’s foreign but welcome, and before he knows what he’s doing, Stiles is pulling his sandwich appart and feeding the dragon the meat. A little annoyed she stole his meat, Stiles munches on the cheese and berries he also had in his satchel and lets the little charcoal dragon explore his room.

Stiles swallows thickly as a thought hits him. “What exactly am I going to do with you?”

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

The years pass by without incident. Stiles finishes his schooling at fifteen with marks so good that Haddow and Maezie spend more money than they should at the Bakery to buy him a red velvet cake. He spends his time divided between work at the Blacksmith’s, the Seamstresses, Minnie (who also works at the Seamstresses and is much better than him), and training with his dragon. Simry (she had named herself a year after hatching) had grown faster than anything Stiles had ever seen. Within two months, she was too big to hide in his room, so he had snuck her out in the dead of night to the forest, where Simry had dug herself a den beneath a massive tree. Stiles goes to visit her on his days off under the pretense of hunting for food, and eventually becomes one of the town’s most prominent hunters as a result. Haddow had kept training Stiles to fight every evening after Maezie makes them dinner, and Stiles is the best shot in the town and has the competition trophies to prove it. The first few years with Simry were touch-and-go, because Stiles knew exactly _nothing_ about dragons and while Simry had some instincts, she didn’t have any older dragons to teach her how to hunt or how to fly or how to fight. Stiles and Simry had to figure all of that out on their own. Stiles had taken up burying himself in books in the library, frantically writing notes and taking them back to Simry to try the new information he learned. This resulted in Simry learning how to read, which Stiles thinks is _extremely_ cool. It had taken the dragon six months after her wings were fully developed (at three months, according to every single book Stiles has read) to learn how to fly. Every time Stiles brings it up, Simry gets embarrassed and cranky. But once she mastered flying, everything else came easier. The first time she spat lightning like a Charcoal dragon can, she almost torched Stiles, who managed to dive out of the way at the last second. She had become an adept fighter though, fighting off predators like bears or wolves that wanted her territory or her food. When Stiles was fourteen and Simry was three, they decided it was time for Stiles to learn how to ride her. Using the books in the library, Stiles designed a saddle, then sneakily made one without Haddow or Maezie finding out. The first one was simple brown leather, but they got more and more elaborate as Simry grew and Stiles got better at both designing and making them. Learning to fly had been an experience - Stiles had fallen off countless times before they got the hang of it, and now Simry zips through the forest and around the mountains with ease. Simry had stopped growing when she was five and as tall as a two-story house, so Stiles and her agreed that she should move to the mountains. All it meant was that Stiles had to travel on horseback to meet her, but Haddow and Maezie had bought him a horse for his sixteenth birthday anyways so it wasn’t too much of a hassle. The years continued on like this, and Stiles and Simry’s bond and skill just improved with each passing day. At nineteen, Stiles has grown into his flailing limbs, gained more muscle than he thought he could, and has taken to leaving his hair out when flying on Simry because he likes the way the wind feels.

 _You’re so stupid,_ Simry huffed, stretching her neck out with eat beat of her massive wings.

“Excuse me,” Stiles sniffs. “My hair is exquisite and you love it.”

 _Ooooo, that’s a big word._ Stiles can just feel the sarcasm radiating through their bond. It makes him grin.

“I know, I learned it when I was little.”

Simry lands with a _BOOM,_ nearby trees shaking with the force of her impact. She angles a wing towards the ground and Stiles slides off her back with the ease of someone who’s been doing it for years. Simry releases the female deer she was carrying in her claws, and Stiles hauls it over his shoulder with a grunt. He turns to smile at his dragon, who blinks down at her rider with bright red eyes.

“I’ll see you next week,” Stiles says, smile widening when she bends down to nudge his chest with her nose, almost throwing him off balance.

 _You’d better,_ Simry’s forked tongue darts out to lick his nose and Stiles gags at her breath. They part ways after that, Simry taking off to head back to her cave in the mountains, and Stiles heading back towards Holden. He stops to untie his horse five minutes into his walk, an affectionate Morgan horse named Bear named for his size and coat. Stiles drapes the dead deer over Bear’s back, hauls himself up afterwards, and heads back to town a little slower than he would if he was by himself. Bear makes good time, used to carrying Stiles and a dead animal, and they make it back to Holden before the sun sets. He stops off at the Butcher’s, gets paid for the deer, and makes his way back to his house. 

“Evenin’ laddie,” Haddow booms as Stiles enters, pulling him into an aggressive but fond hug.

“How was your day?” Stiles asks, face squished against the bigger man’s chest.

“Borin’ without you in da shop,” Haddow says before releasing Stiles. “Wipe off those shoes. Yah look clarty.”

Stiles scoffs, but does as told. Maezie greets him with a hug as aggressive as her husband’s, and the three of them sit down for Maezie’s famous stewed mutton - a favourite dish of Stiles’, since it was what Maezie made for Stiles the first ever night he stayed with them. They had just finished eating and Stiles had started on the dishes when there’s a strong knock on the door. Stiles ignores it, scrubbing at a stubborn piece of food, but Haddow pulls the door open with a flourish.

“How can I help ya, lads?”

“There’s a dragon in the mountains wearing a saddle. This is the closest settlement, and we’re looking for the Rider. May we come in?”

Stiles freezes from where he’s scrubbing the pot and pulls his sleeves a little farther down his arms. 

“There’s no Rider here, I assure ya,” Haddow says, but steps aside to welcome the soldiers in anyways. Stiles abandons the pot and goes to stand beside Maezie, relaxing only a little when he notices the uniforms are the ones of the Beacon Kingdom, and not of the Chasseuse Kingdom. There’s three of them, each one more intimidating than the last. The tallest is a stoic dark skinned man with copper flames covering his hands and wrapping around his fingers. The second has skin lighter than Stiles’, curly blond hair, and six violet dots under each eye. The third is slightly shorter than the other two, but the most intimidating. He’s got huge muscles, spiky black hair, well kept stubble, and navy waves on both sides of his neck. His uniform is slightly different than the other two - the same thick black pants, knee high black boots, deep red jacket, thick black belts wrapped around their waists, but he has two extra straps of leather crossing over his chest in an X. They’ve all got swords strapped to their waists. Stiles gulps audibly.

“I’m very sorry,” the shortest man says. “But I’ve going to have to ask everyone to roll up their sleeves.”

“Uh - why?” Stiles asks, voice cracking slightly. “I’ve got scars on my arms that I don’t really want anyone to see, which is why I said something.” _Simry,_ he thinks, projecting his fear through their bond. _I need you here now._ She doesn’t respond, but Stiles knows she’s coming to meet him. 

“It’s a Charcoal dragon,” the soldier says, turning his grey-green eyes on Stiles. “All dragons give their Riders unique markings. A Charcoal dragon Rider will have lightning down their arms.”

Haddow complies first, happily folding his sleeves up to his elbows. Maezie follows suit, but Stiles hesitates.

“Laddie,” Maezie says softly. “Yer sleeves.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I will not be used again.”

“Stiles,” Haddow rumbles. “Wha -”

“I love you guys,” Stiles says, and the soldier narrows his eyes at him.

“It’s you,” he realizes, but Stiles is halfway up the stairs before the soldiers can move.


	2. Kołysanka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to get in the mood for this chapter, listen to HWAA by (G)-Idle
> 
> amory's name is pronouced am-or-ie

Stiles manages not to trip up the stairs in his haste and barrels into his room, breathing hard. Hands shaking, he pushes his dresser to hold his door shut, picks up his (still packed, thankfully) satchel, straps his bow and quiver to his back, and buckles his sword into it’s spot beside his quiver. The door slams open behind him just as Stiles jumps from the window, rolling gracefully into a summersault to protect his ankles before he’s up and running. 

_ Simry,  _ he thinks urgently,  _ please tell me you’re close. _

_ Almost there,  _ she responds, and Stiles feels relief wash over him. He’s sprinting as fast as he can towards the center of town where he can head into the forest, but skids to a stop at the sight of three dragons curled up around the massive fountain in the middle of the town square. 

Stiles curses loudly. “Of course they’re Riders.”

The dragons cut intimidating figures, each one bigger than the last. The smallest is a dark violet with brown claws and eyes, and it has a leather hide, instead of scales like the other two. On both sides of it’s neck and behind it’s ears are two huge brown fans. The second biggest is navy, with intimidating black claws and eyes. It doesn’t have horns or fans on it’s face, but it’s tail is spiked. The biggest is copper, with green claws and eyes. It has two horns that spiral backwards on the top of it’s head. The townspeople are wisely avoiding the square, because even Stiles, who has raised a dragon bigger than all three of them, is a little terrified.

_ “Atayin!”  _ A voice bellows from behind him, and the Navy dragon turns it’s head to look right into Stiles’ eyes. With a rumble, the dragon stands up on it’s feet and bares it’s teeth. He swallows thickly and tenses to move.

_ HERE, _ Simry announces loudly, and Stiles has barely enough time to look above him before his fiercely loyal dragon is barreling into the Navy dragon, snarling loudly. He feels a rush of fondness flood his chest, proud of the dragon she’s grown up to be. In addition to the terrifying red eyes and claws, Simry also has four huge red horns on each side of her head, plus two more above the ridge of her eyebrows, huge teeth, and scary good command over lighting. Sure that Simry has the other dragons occupied, he turns around to face the rapidly approaching soldiers, drawing his longsword. The soldiers stop in their tracks and do the same.

“Why are you fighting this?” The one with curly hair asks.

Stiles bares his teeth. “I’ve been a slave before. I will not be one again.”

“That’s not -” the tallest one starts, getting cut off by an angry roar from behind him. The worst pain Stiles has ever felt blossoms in his right thigh, and he whips around to see Simry pinned down by the Copper dragon, the Violet dragon’s teeth buried in one of her hindlegs. Simry and Stiles lock eyes, both of them frantic.

_ Stiles,  _ Simry whimpers, and Stiles feels something within him snap. The markings on his skin burn painfully, the pain so intense he drops to one knee, mouth open in a scream. The pain builds and builds until it’s a ball in his chest, sitting heavily on top of his heart.

_ “Oh FUCK -” _ The shortest soldier says loudly, the Navy dragon landing heavily in the space between the soldiers and Stiles, wrapping it’s body around them before Stiles screams once more, the pain exploding outwards. His ears start ringing, his skin burns, and his vision goes white.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

He wakes with a start, ribs protesting as his body jolts. He relaxes back into his bed with a groan, burying back into the cozy red comforter. It takes him three more minutes to realize something is  _ very _ wrong - the comforter on his actual bed is white. Stiles inhales sharply through his nose, tears of frustration stinging his eyes. After all that, he’s going to be used like a slave again, and it’s even worse that he dragged Simry into this mess with him. With another pained groan, Stiles sits up in order to take in his surroundings. The room he’s in is bigger than the one he sleeps in back in Holden, with the bed he’s in tucked away in the corner furthest from the door. At the base of the bed is a charcoal coloured chest, and the wall across from him has a desk sitting under a huge window with the red drapes drawn to let sunlight filter in. There’s a small brown couch against the wall beside his bed with a thick red knitted blanket draped across it. On the same bed as the couch is an opening covered by another red curtain. Stiles frowns in confusion. This looks nothing like a prison cell, or wherever else slaves would sleep. The door opens, and Stiles jumps, grabbing one of the many pillows surrounding him and holding it tightly across his chest. A short girl with curly black hair and light green eyes bounces in, wearing the same uniform as the soldiers that kidnapped him except hers is sleeveless. Four thick magenta bands wrap around her upper arms, and she has only one leather strap crossing her chest.

She doesn’t bother closing the door behind her, instead choosing to shoot a happy grin at Stiles. “Hi! I’m Amory Hale, what’s your name?”

Stiles chokes. “You’re a  _ Hale?” _

Amory laughs, cheeks dimpling. “Don’t worry, I’m just the second princess. No need to bow or anything.”

He eyes her warily, but doesn’t move. “My name is Stiles Anderson. Where am I?” 

“The Dragon Sanctuary in Silverkeep,” the princess answers good naturedly. “Why don’t you get dressed so I can give you a tour? Your uniform is in there -” she gestures to the chest at the end of his bed “- and if you want to freshen up, the bathroom is through that curtain. Just open the door when you’re done.” She leaves with another smile, closing the door behind her softly. It’s a while before Stiles moves, muscles sore from how tense he was the entire time Amory was in the room with him. He heads for the chest first, kneeling so he can still see the door, and lifts the heavy lid with a grunt. He’s bracing himself old and worn clothing, but that’s not what he finds at all. Instead, there’s the same uniform as every other Beaconian soldier he’s seen, except his jackets and shirts don’t seem to have a right sleeve. He pulls out fresh underclothes, one of the many plain black tunics, the thick black pants, the red jacket, some thick white socks, and warily lifts up a confusing assortment of belts and buckles. He decides to leave that for later and gathers up everything else before heading into the bathroom. The water that comes out of the tub is surprisingly warm, so he takes a quick bath, even washing his hair for the first time in days with the sweet smelling soap. He has to take the bandages around his ribs off, but there’s a pile of fresh ones standing on the counter beside the sink with written instructions as to how to reapply them. The skin on the left side of his chest is green and purple on top of the grey markings, which is weird, because wouldn’t he remember an injury this severe? Stiles also remembers a debilitating pain in his right thigh, but when he takes a look, the skin is unmarred and there’s no pain at all. Confused, he towels himself off before carefully following the steps to re-wrap his ribs. Aching for a tiny bit of home, he ties two braids - one on each side of his head and starting at his temple - into his bun, and feels a little better the longer he stares at them. Once he is clean and bandaged, he pulls on the uniform he brought into the bathroom before going back into his room and pulling the door open. Amory is standing against the wall opposite him with one leg propped up behind her, and her eyes open as soon as he notices her.

Stiles awkwardly holds up the belts. “I’m not sure how to put this on.”

Amory laughs good naturedly, but steps forward to help him. The first thing she does is untangle the mess Stiles made, handing him a simple thin belt that holds up his pants. Amory makes sure the belt is snug around his hips, then tugs the jacket down and wraps the much thicker belt around his waist, threading it through three thick belt loops that Stiles didn’t notice. Two much thinner straps hang down from the front, and Amory instructs him as to how to buckle them around his thighs. It feels a little weird, but maybe he can strap a dagger or two there later.

“Can I ask a question?” Stiles says apprehensively while he’s doing up the last buckle. 

“Of course,” Amory says easily.

“Why aren’t I in a cage? Or restrained? Where’s Simry? Why am I wearing the uniform of your army?”

Amory blinks again. “That was way more than one question. You’re not in a cage because you’re not a feral animal, you’re not restrained because you’re not a prisoner or slave, Simry is with all the other dragons, and you’re wearing the uniform because you’re part of the army.” With that, she loops her arm around Stiles’ and starts to drag him carefully down the hallway.

“Part of the army?” Stiles repeats, letting himself be moved.

Amory nods. “Even though your dragon was unregistered, all Riders eventually become part of the army. It’s kind of mandatory, but we’re definitely not going to force you to stay here if you’re  _ really  _ against it. Derek only brought you here because you and your dragon needed medical attention that your town couldn’t give.”

Stiles is reeling. He was  _ so  _ sure that this was going to be a terrible experience for Simry and himself. “Derek?” He asks.

“One of the soldiers who were sent out to retrieve you,” Amory says. “He was the short one, but anyone looks short next to Boyd and Isaac.”

Stiles doesn’t reply to that, and Amory turns her focus on her tour. Apparently Stiles woke up in one of the Rider’s barracks, a long one story building with enough rooms for fifty people. There’s five other buildings just like it, spread out in different locations all over Silverkeep. Across from the building they just left is the mess hall, which looks more like a large barn than anything else. A little ways off to the left are two more buildings, the bigger one being the training center and the smaller one being the command center. According to Amory, each location of the barracks has a layout pretty much exactly like this one, even though they’re a little bit smaller. They have cavalry and foot soldier bases spread out all over the country, but the dragon sanctuaries are more central and heavily protected. Amory and him walk deeper into the forest, and she tells him the dragons are housed a quick three minute walk from the barracks, and as they get closer, Stiles can feel a weight that he didn’t even know was there begin to lift off his shoulders. The stables are fucking huge. They were built with dragons in mind, so they have to be, but it still takes Stiles off guard. They’re built in a U-shape, with the buildings getting progressively smaller towards the ends. (Well, Stiles says small; they’re still bigger than the house he lived in with Haddow and Maezie.) The clearing is bustling with activity, and people turn to stare at Stiles as they pass. He self-consciously tries to cover his bare arm with his opposite hand, but it obviously doesn’t work.

“Sorry about that,” Amory says sympathetically as she pulls him towards the largest building in the very center. “We haven’t had a Charcoal dragon rider in about a century - everyone thought they were extinct. Now, let’s visit your dragon!”

Stiles perks up and Amory laughs. She pulls open the massive sliding door, and Stiles’ jaw drops. The architecture is beautiful, all sweeping arches and soft looking wood. There’s walkways arching above him and winding up the walls, but the ceiling is so high Stiles dreads walking up all those stairs to get to the top. All activity stops, and Simry lifts her head from where she’s dozing in the middle of the room. 

_ STILES! _ She says happily, getting up as Stiles grins widely at her. He can hear the faint  _ zing! _ of weapons being pulled out of their sheaths as moves to him faster than should be possible with her size.

“Watch the ribs!” He laughs, but she pays him to mind, bumping him with her nose so hard he goes down with a huff, and lays on the ground as she frantically sniffs and licks him. Stiles’ hands come up and he wraps his arms around as much of her snout as he can reach, laughing happily. 

_ Are you okay?  _ She asks, sniffing him one last time before laying on the ground and resting her head on top of his chest. It makes his ribs protest, but it’s in the background.

_ I’m okay,  _ Stiles confirmed.  _ What about you? That Violet dragon had you pretty good. _

Simry huffs, obviously annoyed.  _ I’m fine. Three against one is hardly fair. _

_ Thank you for coming for me,  _ Stiles says softly.

Amory blinks at him slowly.  _ I’ll always come for you. _

“... Stiles?”

He tips his head back, jutting his chin into the air awkwardly as he’s still being pressed into the floor by Simry’s massive head. Amory is staring at him from where she’s standing just inside the doors, sword drawn and eyes wide. “... Yeah?”

“Your dragon -” Amory says haltingly. “I thought she was going to attack you.”

Simry snorts loudly and the princess tenses. Stiles laughs. “I’m grateful for your concern, but Simry would never hurt me. We’re too close for that.” Like she’s proving a point, his dragon’s tongue flicks out and licks his chin. Stiles, as usual, gags at her breath. At that, Simry finally moves so she’s resting beside Stiles and not on top of him, so he stands up. 

“Is that why your markings are on your whole body, not just your arms?”

Stiles frowns at her. “Is that not normal?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Dragon markings are always just on their Rider’s upper bodies, even Charcoal dragons.”

Stiles hums. “Mine have always been like this, from the first time she touched me.”

Amory looks taken aback at this, but is interrupted from saying any more by the entrance of an older man. He’s dressed differently than everyone else (his jacket is tan instead of red), so Stiles has a feeling he’s not in the army. He’s got sandy hair and faded blue eyes, and a face that looks like he smiles a lot. 

“Stiles, this is Noah Stilinski. He’s the head dragon trainer.”

A bolt of lightning goes through Stiles’ heart. No wonder the man looked so familiar. “Holy fuck,” he says, and both Amory and Noah look taken off guard by the crude word.  _ “Dad?” _

Noah Stilinski blinks at him, and takes a step back once it clicks.  _ “Mieczysław?” _

Stiles nods tearfully, and Noah takes a few determined steps forward before sweeping Stiles up into the tightest hug he’s ever been a part of. Stiles gives as good as he’s given though, and a few tears escape his eyes. It feels like forever (but also not long enough) before Noah steps back, keeping his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. Simry rumbles so happily Stiles can feel it in his chest.

“I thought you were dead,” Noah says frantically. “I searched for you. I swear Mieczysław, I searched for you.”

It feels like there’s a rock stuck in Stiles’ throat. “I’m sorry dad, I’m so sorry. I - I had to save Scott.”

“He told me,” Noah says, moving his hands up to cup Stiles’ face. “You’re so brave.”

“Wait,” Amory says, interrupting the moment. “Scott McCall?”

Stiles’ face lights up. “You know him?”

“He’s here,” Noah replies. “He’s following in Melissa’s footsteps.”

“Can I see him?”   
“Of course,” Noah and Amory say in unison.

Simry huffs from behind him and Stiles whips around. “Right! Dad - this is Simry, my dragon.” Noah stares in apprehension, but Simry just huffs again and pushes her nose against his lax fingers. Noah's face breaks out into a smile, and he rubs his knuckles over her eye ridges just like she likes it. Stiles feels more content than he has in a long time.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Scott recognizes Stiles instantly, and there’s a tackle barely disguised as a hug as soon as they see each other. Melissa is very glad to see him as well, and Amory takes all of them to the mess hall after the reunion to eat before leaving them alone. Noah tells him that Claudia had died in the same raid that had also taken Stiles from him, and this tidbit of information resulted in another five minute hug and a lot of tears. After lunch, the three of them take Stiles into each individual building for a more in depth tour, and Stiles introduces them all to Simry. She takes a special liking to Scott, but that’s because their personalities are very similar - both are just huge puppies. Stiles is told multiple times that his bond with his dragon is nothing like anyone has ever seen before, and Stiles just frowns at that each time. The bond he and Simry share is something he can’t put into words - they grew up together, they learned from their (many) mistakes together, they bled together. Noah and Melissa part ways with them after dinner since they both need to get back to their jobs, and Scott and Stiles head back to the training center. They run into Amory on the way there, and she takes them to meet her dragon. Qerin, her class two Magenta, is very shy and it takes him five minutes of Amory’s coaxing for him to reveal himself. Magenta’s are the smallest dragons, but they have the toughest scales and have the ability to camouflage. Qerin being a Class Two means that he and Amory are usually used as messengers because they are the best for long distance travel. Stiles is confused about the class system, but Scott and Amory are happy to explain it to him. Class One dragons are the fastest and tend to be used as scouts. Class Two dragons have the best stamina and are primarily used for long distance travel and Class Three dragons are the best land fighters. Class Four dragons are the strongest and most powerful, and are used the most in war or air battles. The type and size of dragon doesn’t matter, they are just sorted into the class that matches their characteristics. That being said, Aquamarine and Burgundy dragons tend to be sorted into Class One, Magentas are usually in Class Two, Violet and Ash dragons are in Class Three, and Class Four tends to be dominated by Navy, Copper and Charcoal dragons. 

“However,” Amory says, staring at Simry with something like awe in her eyes. “No one has seen a Charcoal dragon in centuries.”

“You mentioned that earlier,” Stiles huffs, and Simry nudges him so hard with a claw that he stumbles.

“Where did you find her?” Scott asks, so Stiles launches into the story of running into Oliver Moore  _ (“the merchant Scott, remember him?) _ in the forest outside of Holden and discovering the dragon egg long after they had parted ways. Stiles is just another story in which Simry chewed up his shoes and Maezie found out, when his dragon lifts her head up to stare at the entrance to her stable. 

_ It’s them,  _ she rumbles, and Stiles cuts himself off mid-sentence to follow her line of vision. Standing just outside the stable are the three soldiers who came to his village. Stiles tenses and spreads his feet a little, wishing that he was given his weapons back. 

“Amory,” the shortest one says ( _ Derek,  _ his mind supplies), cutting the girl a harsh glare. “Why is he out of his room.”

Amory scoffs. “Please Derek, you know mom deemed him a non-threat.”

_ “Mom?”  _ Stiles squeaks.

Amory nods. “Derek’s my younger brother.”

“We arrested him for possession of an unregistered dragon!” Derek protests, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then he almost killed us!”

Stiles throws his hands up. “Whoa, hold on. What do you mean I almost killed you?”

The soldier with curly hair gives him an odd look. “You almost obliterated us with your lightning.”

“Would have, if Derek’s dragon didn’t get to us in time,” the third soldier, the tallest one, scowls.

_ It’s true,  _ Simry says, and Stiles whips around to stare at her in disbelief.  _ I thought you had exploded. _

“What the fuck,” Stiles says aloud, with feeling.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

“This is a horrible idea,” Stiles yells into the wind. “Derek’s going to kick my ass!”

_ This is a fantastic idea,  _ Simry counters, baring her teeth.  _ He insulted you. He’s lucky I didn’t eat him. _

Stiles winces. This is true - Derek had said something along the lines of “there’s no way someone like  _ him  _ could ever ride a Charcoal dragon”, and, responding to Stiles’ wounded look, Scott had challenged Derek. There’s a training course a little ways away in the mountains, and Scott had decided that Stiles and Simry would prove themselves by completing the course while racing against Derek and his dragon. Derek had agreed readily, and Stiles had just watched in barely concealed horror. Now, a day after that horrible encounter, almost the entire base has made their way to the training course. Amory and Scott had taken him down that morning to run through the course a couple of times so Stiles wouldn’t be going in blind, but that in no way means he’s prepared. It’s complicated and  _ long,  _ with obstacles for both himself and his dragon. Plus, Derek has probably done the course hundreds of times, and Stiles has completed it only three with Amory’s help. There is one upside to all this though - Amory had given Stiles his weapons back, and he feels more at ease with his bow, quiver, and longsword strapped to his back and his dagger strapped to his left thigh. Now, Stiles is sitting at the starting point, Simry resting four hundred meters away. He shoves the rest of his beef jerky into his mouth angrily, and Simry perks her head up to watch Derek and his dragon get into place a few feet away from them. Stiles swallowed harshly and got to his feet, heart beating rapidly.

_ Don’t worry,  _ Simry rumbled, and Stiles could feel her in his chest.  _ We both remember the course. We’ve done things like this before. It’ll be fun!  _ He gaped at her in disbelief - his traitor dragon was actually  _ excited.  _

Stiles huffed.  _ Still nervous. I really don’t want to embarrass myself. _

_ You won’t,  _ Simry reassured.

Behind Derek and Stiles stood a large platform with ten regal chairs on them. The one in the middle is a dark red, and the rest are black and also a little bit smaller. Stiles blinks at it - ten chairs means the entire royal family would be coming to watch. A pit forms in his stomach, but he ignores it to glance around at the rest of the clearing. Since they’re at a training course, there’s not room for a lot of spectators (thank goodness) so only about fifty people have come to watch. Slowly, the royal family starts to take their seats. There’s a lot of them, and Stiles only knows Amory and Derek, but he’s a couple of feet away from Stiles instead of up with his family. He can figure out which ones are the Queen and King though - they’re both wearing elaborate crowns. Talia Hale has the face of a soft but stern woman, and the crown and green dress she’s wearing go well with her brown hair and tan skin. Lincoln Hale is the polar opposite - he’s huge with wild blond hair and a well trimmed beard. The furthest from Stiles’ right sits a girl with dirty blonde hair and a mischievous smirk. Beside her is another slightly shorter girl, staring at Stiles with no emotion on her pale face, made paler by long brown hair. Beside her sits Amory, grinning widely at both him and Derek, and on Amory’s other side is a man who looks to be the younger version of King Lincoln minus the beard. It seems like Amory and her brother were the only ones to inherit the King’s wild curls. He’s on the Queen’s left, so he must be the heir. King Lincoln sits on Queen Talia’s right, and beside him is a girl with long light brown hair and pale skin, grinning so hard at Derek that Stiles can see her dimples from where he stands. Beside her is Derek’s empty seat, and beside that is an older man with a well-defined face and light hair, and beside him sits a woman with dark skin and hair so dark it’s almost black. It’s more than daunting. Stiles has always been a part of small families, even when he was living with Haddow and Maezie.

Queen Talia stands up, moving elegantly in her long dress. “Welcome everyone! Our newest Rider, Stiles Stilinski, has challenged my son Derek to a race.”

Stiles grimaces in Scott’s direction. He shoots him an enthusiastic thumbs up in return.

“But he isn’t just any Rider!” The Queen continues. “He rides a Charcoal dragon, the likes of which haven’t been seen for centuries!”

_ She’s really talking me up,  _ Simry muses.

_ That just means we have to perform well,  _ Stiles answers without taking his eyes off the Queen.

“I wish both Riders luck! After this, we will be having a feast in honour of the entertainment Riders Derek and Stiles have provided for us.”

Stiles blinks. A feast? 

Amory stands up from her seat, waving her arm wildly in his direction. “Stiles!” She hollers. “Don’t go easy on my brother!” 

She gets pulled back down by her brother, but the entire family is shaking their heads fondly.

“Once my dragon roars, you may begin!” The Queen says, staring straight into Stiles’ eyes. “Be daring. Use your dragons and your strengths to your advantage, and be prepared to fight to keep your spot. Good luck!”

With that, Stiles turns away from the royal family and makes eye contact with Simry, her excitement bubbling in his chest.

_ Here we go,  _ she says, and Stiles grins.


End file.
